Ingathering

by Zenna Henderson

  “A special trip.” I shivered. “Surely you can’t think that civilized people in this nineteenth century could be so violent—so—so—I mean people just don’t—” My words died before the awful image in my mind.

  “Don’t tie up other people and burn them?” Nils started shifting the water keg back toward the wagon. “Gail, our next camp is supposed to be at Grafton’s Vow. I think we’d better take time to dig out the Bible before we go on.”

  So we did. And we looked at each other over Nils’s pointing finger and the flattened paper he had taken from the shed door.

  “Oh, surely not!” I cried horrified. “It can’t be! Not in this day and age!”

  “It can be,” said Nils. “In any age when people pervert goodness, love, and obedience and set up a god small enough to fit their shrunken souls.” And his finger traced again the brief lines: Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

  “Why did you want to check that quotation before we got to Grafton’s Vow?” I asked.

  “Because it’s that kind of place,” said Nils. “They warned me at the county seat. In fact, some thought it might be wise to take the other trail—a day longer—one dry camp—but avoid Grafton’s Vow. There have been tales of stonings and—”

  “What kind of place is it, anyway?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said Nils. “I’ve heard some very odd stories about it though. It was founded about twenty years ago by Arnold Grafton. He brought his little flock of followers out here to establish the new Jerusalem. They’re very strict and narrow. Don’t argue with them and no levity or lewdness. No breaking of God’s laws, of which they say they have all. When they ran out of Biblical ones, they received a lot more from Grafton to fill in where God forgot.”

  “But,” I was troubled, “aren’t they Christians?”

  “They say so.” I helped Nils lift the keg. “Except they believe they have to conform to all the Old Testament laws, supplemented by all those that Grafton has dictated. Then, if they obey enough of them well enough after a lifetime of struggle, Christ welcomes them into a heaven of no laws. Every law they succeed in keeping on earth, they will be exempted from keeping for all of eternity. So the stricter observance here, the greater freedom there. Imagine what their heaven must be—teetotaler here—rigidly chaste here—never kill here—never steal here—just save up for the promised Grand Release!”

  “And Mr. Grafton had enough followers of that doctrine to found a town?” I asked, a little stunned.

  “A whole town,” said Nils, “into which we will not be admitted. There is a campground outside the place where we will be tolerated for the night if they decide we won’t contaminate the area.”

  At noon we stopped just after topping out at Millman’s Pass. The horses, lathered and breathing heavily, and poor dragged-along Molly drooped grateful heads in the shadows of the aspen and pines.

  I busied myself with the chuck box and was startled to see the girl sliding out of the wagon where we had bedded her down for the trip. She clung to the side of the wagon and winced as her feet landed on the gravelly hillside. She looked very young and slender and lost in the fullness of my nightgown, but her eyes weren’t quite so sunken and her mouth was tinged with color.

  I smiled at her. “That gown is sort of long for mountain climbing. Tonight I’ll try to get to my other clothes and see if I can find something. I think my old blue skirt—” I stopped because she very obviously wasn’t understanding a word I was saying. I took a fold of the gown she wore and said, “Gown.”

  She looked down at the crumpled white muslin and then at me but said nothing.

  I put a piece of bread into her hands and said, “Bread.” She put the bread down carefully on the plate where I had stacked the other slices for dinner and said nothing. Then she glanced around, looked at me, and, turning, walked briskly into the thick underbrush, her elbows high to hold the extra length of gown up above her bare feet.

  “Nils!” I called in sudden panic. “She’s leaving!”

  Nils laughed at me across the tarp he was spreading. “Even the best of us,” he said, “have to duck into the bushes once in a while!”

  “Oh, Nils!” I protested and felt my face redden as I carried the bread plate to the tarp. “Anyway, she shouldn’t be running around in a nightgown like that. What would Mr. Grafton say! And have you noticed? She hasn’t made a sound since we found her.” I brought the eating things to the tarp. “Not one word. Not one sound.”

  “Hmm,” said Nils, “you’re right. Maybe she’s a deaf mute.”

  “She hears,” I said. “I’m sure she hears.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t speak English,” he suggested. “Her hair is dark. Maybe she’s Mexican. Or even Italian. We get all kinds out here on the frontier. No telling where she might be from.”

  “But you’d think she’d make some sound. Or try to say something,” I insisted.

  “Might be the shock,” said Nils soberly. “That was an awful thing to live through.”

  “That’s probably it, poor child.” I looked over to where she had disappeared. “An awful thing. Let’s call her Marnie, Nils,” I suggested. “We need some sort of name to call her by.”

  Nils laughed. “Would having the name close to you reconcile you a little to being separated from your little sister?”

  I smiled back. “It does sound homey—Marnie, Marnie.”

  As if I had called her, the girl, Marnie, came back from the bushes, the long gown not quite trailing the slope, completely covering her bare feet. Both her hands were occupied with the long stem of red bells she was examining closely. How graceful she is, I thought. How smoothly—Then my breath went out and I clutched the plate I held. That gown was a good foot too long for Marnie! She couldn’t possibly be walking with it not quite trailing the ground without holding it up! And where was the pausing that came between steps? I hissed at Nils. “Look!” I whispered hoarsely, “she’s—she’s floating! She’s not even touching the ground!”

  Just at that moment Marnie looked up and saw us and read our faces. Her face crumpled into terror and she dropped down to the ground. Not only down to her feet, but on down into a huddle on the ground with the spray of flowers crushed under her.

  I ran to her and tried to lift her, but she suddenly convulsed into a mad struggle to escape me. Nils came to help. We fought to hold the child, who was so violent that I was afraid she’d hurt herself.

  “She’s—she’s afraid!” I gasped. “Maybe she thinks—we’ll—kill her!”

  “Here!” Nils finally caught a last flailing arm and pinioned it. “Talk to her! Do something! I can’t hold her much longer!”

  “Marnie, Marnie!” I smoothed the tangled curls back from her blank, tense face, trying to catch her attention. “Marnie, don’t be afraid!” I tried a smile. “Relax, honey, don’t be scared.” I wiped her sweat- and tear-streaked face with the corner of my apron. “There, there, it doesn’t matter—we won’t hurt you—” I murmured on and on, wondering if she was taking in any of it, but finally the tightness began to go out of her body and at last she drooped, exhausted, in Nils’s arms. I gathered her to me and comforted her against my shoulder.

  “Get her a cup of milk,” I said to Nils, “and bring me one, too.” My smile wavered. “This is hard work!”

  In the struggle I had almost forgotten what had started it, but it came back to me as I led Marnie to the spring and demonstrated that she should wash her face and hands. She did so, following my example, and dried herself on the flour-sack towel I handed her. Then, when I started to turn away, she sat down on a rock by the flowing water, lifted the sadly bedraggled gown, and slipped her feet into the stream. When she lifted each to dry it, I saw the reddened, bruised soles and said, “No wonder you didn’t want to walk. Wait a minute.” I went back to the wagon and got my old slippers, and, as an afterthought, several pins. Marnie was still sitting by the stream, leaning over the water, letting it flow between her fingers. She put on the slippers—woe
fully large for her—and stood watching with interest as I turned up the bottom of the gown and pinned it at intervals.

  “Now,” I said, “now at least you can walk. But this gown will be ruined if we don’t get you into some other clothes.”

  We ate dinner and Marnie ate some of everything we did, after a cautious tasting and a waiting to see how we handled it. She helped me gather up and put away the leftovers and dear the tarp. She even helped with the dishes—all with an absorbed interest as if learning a whole new set of skills.

  As our wagon rolled on down the road, Nils and I talked quietly, not to disturb Marnie as she slept in the back of the wagon.

  “She’s an odd child,” I said. “Nils, do you think she really was floating? How could she have? It’s impossible.”

  “Well, it looked as if she was floating,” he said. “And she acted as if she had done something wrong—something—” Nils’s words stopped and he frowned intently as he flicked at a roadside branch with the whip “—something we would hurt her for. Gail, maybe that’s why—I mean, we found that witch quotation. Maybe those other people were like Marnie. Maybe someone thought they were witches and burned them—”

  “But witches are evil” I cried. “What’s evil about floating—”

  “Anything is evil,” said Nils, “if it lies on the other side of the line you draw around what you will accept as good. Some people’s lines are awfully narrow.”

  “But that’s murder!” I said, “to kill—”

  “Murder or execution—again, a matter of interpretation,” said Nils. “We call it murder, but it could never be proved—”

  “Marnie,” I suggested. “She saw—”

  “Can’t talk—or won’t,” said Nils.

  I hated the shallow valley of Grafton’s Vow at first glance. For me it was shadowed from one side to the other in spite of the down-flooding sun that made us so grateful for the shade of the overhanging branches. The road was running between rail fences now as we approached the town. Even the horses seemed jumpy and uneasy as we rattled along.

  “Look,” I said, “there’s a notice or something on that fence post.”

  Nils pulled up alongside the post and I leaned over to read: “ ‘Ex. 20:16.’ That’s all it says!”

  “Another reference,” said Nils. “ ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness.’ This must be a habit with them, putting up memorials on the spot where a law is broken.”

  “I wonder what happened here.” I shivered as we went on.

  We were met at a gate by a man with a shotgun in his hands who said, “God have mercy,” and directed us to the campgrounds safely separated from town by a palisade kind of log wall. There we were questioned severely by an anxious-faced man, also clutching a shotgun, who peered up at the sky at intervals as though expecting the wrath of heaven at any moment.

  “Only one wagon?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Nils. “My wife and I and—”

  “You have your marriage lines?” came the sharp question.

  “Yes,” said Nils patiently, “they’re packed in the trunk.”

  “And your Bible is probably packed away, too!” the man accused.

  “No,” said Nils, “here it is.” He took it from under the seat. The man sniffed and shifted.

  “Who’s that?” He nodded at the back of Marnie’s dark head where she lay silently, sleeping or not, I don’t know.

  “My niece,” Nils said steadily, and I damped my mouth shut. “She’s sick.”

  “Sick!” The man backed away from the wagon. “What sin did she commit?”

  “Nothing catching,” said Nils, shortly.

  “Which way you come?” asked the man.

  “Through Millman’s Pass,” Nils answered, his eyes unwavering on the anxious questioning face. The man paled and clutched his gun tighter, the skin of his face seeming to stretch down tight and then flush loose and sweaty again.

  “What—” he began, then he licked dry lips and tried again. “Did you—was there—”

  “Was there what?” asked Nils shortly. “Did we what?”

  “Nothing,” stammered the man, backing away. “Nothing.

  “Gotta see her,” he said, coming reluctantly back to the wagon. “Too easy to bear false witness—” Roughly he grabbed the quilt and pulled it back, rolling Marnie’s head toward him. I thought he was going to collapse. “That’s—that’s the one!” he whimpered hoarsely. “How did she get—Where did you—” Then his lips damped shut. “If you say it’s your niece, it’s your niece.”

  “You can stay the night,” he said with an effort. “Spring just outside the wall. Otherwise keep to the compound. Remember your prayers. Comport yourself in the fear of God.” Then he scuttled away.

  “Niece!” I breathed. “Oh, Nils! Shall I write out an ‘Ex. 20:16’ for you to nail on the wagon?”

  “She’ll have to be someone,” said Nils. “When we get to Margin, we’ll have to explain her somehow. She’s named for your sister, so she’s our niece. Simple, isn’t it?”

  “Sounds so,” I said. “But, Nils, who is she? How did that man know—? If those were her people that died back there, where are their wagons? Their belongings? People don’t just drop out of the sky—”

  “Maybe these Graftonites took the people there to execute them,” he suggested, “and confiscated their goods.”

  “Be more characteristic if they burned the people in the town square,” I said shivering. “And their wagons, too.”

  We made camp. Marnie followed me to the spring. I glanced around, embarrassed for her in the nightgown, but no one else was around and darkness was falling. We went through the wall by a little gate and were able for the first time to see the houses of the village. They were very ordinary looking except for the pale flutter of papers posted profusely on everything a nail could hold to. How could they think of anything but sinning, with all these ghosty reminders?

  While we were dipping the water, a small girl, enveloped in gray calico from slender neck to thin wrists and down to clumsy shoes, came pattering down to the spring, eyeing us as though she expected us to leap upon her with a roar.

  “Hello,” I said and smiled.

  “God have mercy,” she answered in a breathless whisper. “Are you right with God?”

  “I trust so,” I answered, not knowing if the question required an answer.

  “She’s wearing white,” said the child, nodding at Marnie. “Is she dying?”

  “No,” I said, “but she’s been ill. That is her nightgown.”

  “Oh!” The child’s eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth. “How wicked! To use such a bad word! To be in her—her—to be like that outside the house! In the daytime!” She plopped her heavy bucket into the spring and, dragging it out, staggered away from us, slopping water as she went. She was met halfway up the slope by a grim-faced woman, who set the pail aside, switched the weeping child unmercifully with a heavy willow switch, took a paper from her pocket, impaled it on a nail on a tree, seized the child with one hand and the bucket with the other, and plodded back to town.

  I looked at the paper. “Ex. 20:12.” “Well!” I let out an astonished breath. “And she had it already written!” Then I went back to Marnie. Her eyes were big and empty again, the planes of her face sharply sunken.

  “Marnie,” I said, touching her shoulder. There was no response, no consciousness of me as I led her back to the wagon.

  Nils retrieved the bucket of water and we ate a slender, unhappy supper by the glow of our campfire. Marnie ate nothing and sat in a motionless daze until we put her to bed.

  “Maybe she’s subject to seizures,” I suggested.

  “It was more likely watching the child being beaten,” said Nils. “What had she done?”

  “Nothing except to talk to us and be shocked that Marnie should be in her nightgown in public.”

  “What was the paper the mother posted?” asked Nils.

  “Exodus, 20:12,” I said. “The child must
have disobeyed her mother by carrying on a conversation with us.”

  After a fitful, restless night the first thin light of dawn looked wonderful and we broke camp almost before we had shadows separate from the night. Just before we rode away, Nils wrote large and blackly on a piece of paper and fastened it to the wall near our wagon with loud accusing hammer blows. As we drove away, I asked, “What does it say?”

  “Exodus, Chapter 22, verses 21 through 24,” he said. “If they want wrath, let it fall on them!”

  I was too unhappy and worn out to pursue the matter. I only knew it must be another Shalt Not and was thankful that I had been led by my parents through the Rejoice and Love passages instead of into the darkness.

  Half an hour later, we heard the clatter of hooves behind us and, looking back, saw someone riding toward us, waving an arm urgently. Nils pulled up and laid his hand on his rifle. We waited.

  It was the anxious man who had directed us to the campsite. He had Nils’s paper clutched in his hand. At first he couldn’t get his words out, then he said, “Drive on! Don’t stop! They might be coming after me!” He gulped and wiped his nervous forehead. Nils slapped the reins and we moved off down the road. “Y—you left this—” He jerked the paper toward us. “ ‘Thou shalt neither vex a stranger, nor oppress him—’ ” the words came in gasps. “ ‘Ye shalt not afflict any widow or fatherless child. If you afflict them in any wise, I will surely hear their cry and my wrath shall wax hot—’ ”He sagged in the saddle, struggling for breath. “This is exactly what I told them,” he said finally. “I showed it to them—the very next verses—but they couldn’t see past 22:18. They—they went anyway. That Archibold told them about the people. He said they did things only witches could do. I had to go along. Oh, God have mercy! And help them tie them and watch them set the shed afire!”

  “Who were they?” asked Nils.

  “I don’t know.” The man sucked air noisily. “Archibold said he saw them flying up in the trees and laughing. He said they floated rocks around and started to build a house with them. He said they—they walked on the water and didn’t fall in. He said one of them held a piece of wood up in the air and it caught on fire and other wood came and made a pile on the ground and that piece went down and lighted the rest.” The man wiped his face again. “They must have been witches! Or else how could they do such things! We caught them. They were sleeping. They fluttered up like birds. I caught that little girl you’ve got there, only her hair was long then. We tied them up. I didn’t want to!” Tears jerked out of his eyes. “I didn’t put any knots in my rope and after the roof caved in, the little girl flew out all on fire and hid in the dark! I didn’t know the Graftonites were like that! I only came last year. They—they tell you exactly what to do to be saved. You don’t have to think or worry or wonder—” He rubbed his coat sleeve across his face. “Now all my life I’ll see the shed burning. What about the others?”